


Silent Ballad

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, M/M, Oscar Wilde - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4300110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson publicly sings Holmes' praises, but there is a private song that must never be sung aloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Ballad

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP 2015 #8 (The Ballad of Reading Gaol) on Watson's Woes. I took my inspiration from the title itself rather than the text.
> 
> The Ballad of Reading Gaol
> 
> "I never saw a man who looked  
> With such a wistful eye  
> Upon that little tent of blue  
> Which prisoners call the sky,  
> And at every drifting cloud that went  
> With sails of silver by."
> 
> \--Oscar Wilde

I know I tend to wax rhapsodic over Holmes' brilliant mind. I was worried at first that I was overdoing my descriptions and praise in my writing, but according to the _Strand_ 's editors and the occasional letter that makes its way to Baker Street, the public finds the constant details of my fascinating friend just as compelling (if not more so) than the mysteries we investigate.

What I long for, however, is not to sing praises just of his mind and intellectual skill, but of his body, his impossibly graceful and lithe frame that makes this old soldier feel young again, and of his secret heart, which belongs to me alone...

But there my tongue must still. England's court has just showed its greatest playwright and wit of the age no mercy; what hope have I, a mere teller of tales? And so I sing my hidden song only to my lover's ears and the flames of our fireplace; I dare not even whisper it into my buried tin box. This bard's heart would break if an indiscreet ballad banished my beloved to Reading Gaol.


End file.
